


Blue Velvet

by sunandoceanblue



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/F, Hux and Phasma are bros, Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Violence, background kylux, first order trio, phasma/tiny officer gf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-17 15:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5876116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunandoceanblue/pseuds/sunandoceanblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Careful, Phasma warned herself, to not let this become anything more than it should be. Do not become attached. Do not stray from your service to the First Order. Do not do anything that could end in a potential disaster in regards to Lieutenant Wilhelm.</p><p>Otherwise known as the story where Phasma gets a tiny and highly fashionable girlfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an idea I was toying with for a while but recently I was inspired by posts on [sinfullucifer's Tumblr](http://sinfullucifer.tumblr.com/) (so I give my thanks to her) and also because who doesn't want to see Phasma with a gf?
> 
> The titled is in reference to the Lana Del Rey song of the same way, which was also an influence for this fic.

She was tiny.

That's the first thing Phasma noticed about her. Couldn't have be an inch over five feet, honestly. She stood there, across the bridge, by the side of the ever-formal General Hux, just barely coming up to his chest. Even in her not-entirely-sensible military boots. (Were they even considered military boots, Phasma wondered, because they had a bit too much of a heel to them – then again, the woman needed all the height she could get.)

Anyway, the next thing she noticed, after looking over the woman briefly while she was strolling past, was that she was very beautiful. Almost frighteningly so.

Because it wasn't a youthful, doe-eyed beauty. No, no, there was something else, something deeper. Behind vivid blue eyes lay a wildfire, passionate and raging. Her hair was pinned back tightly at the nape of her neck in a delicate bun. The harsh lighting caught the dark colour surprisingly well and Phasma distinctly noted that it was not brown, like she first suspected, but a deep, rich auburn. Dressed the the standard First Order dress code, she sported a sharp uniform dress, with the red cuffs of her undershirt just barely revealing themselves, paired with stockings that hid the pale skin of her legs. She had little soft edges, everything was sharp; the arch of her brows, the cut of her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose. But her plush lips, coloured dark with makeup, stood out against her lightly powdered skin and sharp features, such an odd cuteness to them compared to the regal beauty to her. Those lips seemed to tempt, to dare anyone brave enough to lean forward, come closer, and find that it's quite possible that not everything about this woman is quite so sharp.

At least, that's what Phasma got from a small glance, as she passed them.

The woman shouldn't have caught her attention, really. Just another officer, chatting quietly with the General, ignoring the usual bustle around them. (Or so Phasma kept telling herself.)

When it came to the attention to the General that it was Captain Phasma who had walked past, he called out to her, beckoning her back.

Phasma obeyed, turning around and marching to him as quick as she could, tall and fierce as ever – two officers actually went out of their way to give her at least three feet of space as they scurried past.

"Sir," she said, evenly and professionally, as always. Phasma strove to be a constant, to indulge her General's desire of totalitarian control.

Hux nodded at her, arms folded neatly his back, hidden behind the greatcoat that made him seem so much more larger and intimidating than he really was. "I would like to introduce you to someone." He twisted to his left, bringing forward one hand to gesture at the woman beside him. "This is Lieutenant Wilhelm. Lieutenant, this is Captain Phasma, commanding officer of the FN corps."

Phasma bowed her head, out of habit rather than chivalry. "Ma'am." Calling her _ma'am_ was something close to chivarly, considering the woman was several ranks below her. Phasma hadn't even notice she'd said the word until she heard her helmet's modulator wrap around it.

Lieutenant Wilhelm tucked the files she was holding under one arm and held out her hand, lips pulled down into a tight, controlled expression, not unkind, just proficient. Although, compared to Hux's ever-present scowl, she looked downright joyful. Phasma took her hand, admiring the smooth skin – so soft and free of callouses, unlike her own. Admiring the perfectly manicured nails, painted black in colour, with red tips, as if dipped in blood.

She seemed like the kind of woman who had no quarrels with getting her hands dirtied but was wonderful at finding ways to avoid it.

"Pleasure to meet you, Captain." Lieutenant Wilhelm spoke with the utmost professionalism. But, Phasma couldn't help but notice, her rich soprano voice was tainted was something so fanatical, not unlike her eyes. Something scandalous hiding beneath the formal exterior. Something fun?

(What could she say? Harlequin romances were Phasma's guilty pleasure.)

And it apparently affected her thought process because she was still holding the woman's hand. She quickly let go, entirely focusing her attention back on the General.

"Lieutenant Wilhelm has recently been assigned to me and my overseeing of First Order operations, particularly in the financial division," Hux explained.

Despite the helmet, Phasma arched a blonde brow. "A hefty job for a junior officer." She paused, before hastily adding, "No offence intended, Lieutenant."

The young woman shook her head. "Oh, no, Captain, you're right; it's a _very_ large job but I am rather grateful for the opportunity."

"As I am," the General added. "I mean, I cannot do everything at once."

"Though you try."

Hux cracked a smile as Phasma's quip (as cold as ever but at least he was _trying_ ). "But the most practical solutions in these situations is to acquire productive help. We're in a war; finances are very important and while I'm quite adept, it's not my strongest point. However, it is Lieutenant Wilhelm's." His face quickly twisted back into a grimace. "And when I'm dealing with thousands in damage due to Lord Ren's little... tantrums, well, I need all the help I can get in that department."

Phasma snorted. "You mean you need someone to help you come up with believable excuses because 'the Jedi killer man-child broke another set of panels with his wannabe lightsaber' doesn't cut it anymore."

Before Hux could throw back a snarky comment, Lieutenant Wilhelm solemnly interjected. " _Jedi killer?_ " Her blue eyes widened a fraction, unease slyly slipping through her serious composure. "You mean the Knights of Ren leader?"

"Kylo Ren," Phasma supplied.

"Bane of my existence," Hux corrected.

Phasma thought of objecting to this but perhaps it wouldn't be very professional of her at all.

"If you're lucky," the General continued, "you may never have to meet – _oh, for the love,_ is that him on the other side of the bridge?"

As if summoned, Kylo Ren was just suddenly _there_ , across from them, watching them as if they were his prey (or so Phasma assumed; she couldn't entirely tell with the helmet). Ren was one of the most unpredictable and impractical people she had ever met and so, _of course_ , he had to show up whenever he was was being contradicted in some form. _Of course_ he had to quite literally appear from thin air when Hux was bidding for his new Lieutenant to never meet the Lord.

Hux sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Speak his name and he shall appear," he muttered to himself as he stiffly gestured for Lord Ren to join them.

Ren made a big show of heaving his shoulders in exasperation and began to _stalk_ – Phasma honestly couldn't put it any other way – towards then. Even though he was quite obviously _waiting_ for the invitation.

He stood before them, a billowing tower of mystery and reverence. "You requested my presence?" He asked dully, acting as if he had other things to do, besides sulking and stalking.

Both Phasma and Hux shared a brief look, wordlessly communicating their endless frustrations with the man before them.

"This," Hux began sharply, "is Lieutenant Wilhelm, my new assistant, of sorts. All _you_ need to know is that she's helping me with finances in particular." At the mention of fiances, he fixed Ren with a disdained sneer. "So you now have a face to put the person who must deal with your messes."

" _Assistant?_ " Ren quoted dryly, brashly ignoring absolutely everything else Hux had said. "That's an interesting term for handmaiden, General."

"Lord Ren," Phasma warned lowly, quite unsure as to why she was defending Lieutenant Wilhelm but doing so anyway.

"Pay no mind to the walking disaster that calls himself a knight, my dear, " Hux retorted, smiling coolly.

Ren growled under his mask, hand twitching towards the hilt if his weapon.

Watching the two pretend to hate each other would forever keep Phasma entertained.

"General, am I able to leave now?" Even his voice modifier couldn't mask his disgruntled tone. "I _do_ have training to get to."

"Right, of course, how could I forget? Well, be on your way."

He skulked off, and Phasma almost expected storm clouds to form over his head. Why did he continuously hang around them like a bird of prey if it only resulted in either his utter disinterest of the conversations or his anger from the bickering?

Lieutenant Wilhelm, who had remained silent through the little squabble, peered after him curiously. "This one is odd, even for a Knight of Ren," she pondered, possibly thinking aloud, sounding both awed and apprehensive.

"Don't worry about Lord Ren." A part of Phasma wished her voice didn't sound so metallic. Maybe then she could attempt to sound more assuring. "I don't think he ever leant how to talk to people properly."

The other woman laughed quietly, a delicate hand flying over her mouth to smother it.

Oh, _stars_ , her laugh. How typically cliche that her laugh was pure velvet to the ears, something that definitely didn't belong in the cold walls of the _Finalizer,_ or in the First Order at all. So damn gorgeous and weightless that made Phasma _fucking blush_ , which was completely ridiculous and she was endlessly thankful for her helmet.

But she couldn't help but feel the tinest bit proud about making Lieutenant Wilhelm laugh.

The Lieutent cleared her throat and faced the General. "I'll go return these files to your office now, sir."

Hux, who had pulled his datapad from his pocket to reply to a message he received, hummed absently. "Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all."

Lieutenant Wilhelm turned to Phasma, offering her a pleasant (or rather completely darling) smile. "Once again, lovely to meet you, Captain."

Phasma managed to tilt her head in a stiff nod. "And to you, too, Lieutenant Wilhelm."

Leaning in, Lieutenant Wilhelm's lashes fell to her cheeks as her smile widened coyly. "My name's Florentine," she hushed and perhaps Phasma was the only one who heard it.

And with that, the young Lieutenant left, her not-entirely-sensible boots clicking with every step and Phasma's eyes following her the whole way.

"So," the General said when she was out of hearing range, "what do you think?"

Quickly straightening, Phasma tipped her head in her superior's direction. "I think you are lucky to find such an capable young woman." She shifted on her feet, briefly casting a glance to the woman long since gone. "And she's lucky, too; I know many officers would jump at the chance to be by your side."

Hux lowered his datapad and cast her a vainglorious expression. "Of course they would. I'm an _exceptional_ leader."

"Right you are, sir," Phasma agreed, stifling a laugh. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm meeting with my division for training soon and I'd like to have lunch first."

"Very well. Goodbye, Captain."

"Goodbye, General."

As Phasma set off to meet with her corps, her mind briefly wondered back to Lieutenant Wilhelm. And odd occurrence – her thoughts were unlikely to stray from the task she was focusing on. But here she was, remembering the dark, plush lips and the blue, blue, _blue_ of her eyes. Idly, she toyed with the possibility of seeing her again. Conclusion? High; she would almost constantly be by Hux's side now.

Careful, Phasma warned herself, to _not_ let this become anything more than it should be. _Do not_ become attached. _Do not_ stray from your service to the First Order. _Do not_ do anything that could end in a potential disaster in regards to Lieutenant Wilhelm.

Florentine.

This was going to be one fucking _beautiful_ disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come pester me on [Tumblr!](http://thesunandoceanblue.tumblr.com/) I'd love to chat.
> 
> Also, for those interested, [this](https://mir-s3-cdn-cf.behance.net/project_modules/disp/a145ff48116209.560823ed620ec.jpg) is the dress that inspired Lieutenant Wilhelm's uniform dress. I plan on making her very fashionable.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this came out longer than expected.

Ren was tearing up a conference room.

Hux was trying to rein him in.

Officers were panicking, trying to escape the wrath of their mysterious and furious Lord. Two were lying on the door, dead or unconscious, no one was sure.

Lieutenant Wilhelm was standing frozen in place, datapad clutched to her chest. She was shaking.

And Phasma was shaking her head at how fucking out of control things had gotten in the span of minutes.

It had started off like any other conference involving First Order sympathizers; General Hux and his fellow officers sweet talking their way into the hearts of leaders from other planets. Phasma was one of his superior officers but she wasn't there to sweet talk; she was there to assess. During her years in the First Order, she'd been a rather good judgement of character. Watching for signs, ticks, twitches, expressions. Were they suspicious? What did they have to hide? Most importantly, could they be trusted?

Although she spent more time observing Florentine than anyone else, really. Looking as regal and lovely as the first time Phasma saw her; hair pulled up in a pompadour updo, with large, decorative earrings and wine stained lips. She wore a passive expression, taking down notes on a datapad, as she sat beside the General. When most superior officers got a new assistant, Phasma noted, they forked over the work to them, but not Hux. He did what he always did – worked harder than anyone else though it wasn't a necessity for him – but now he had someone else to do _even more_. It was admirable, really. Though Phasma felt a little sympathetic for the woman; even after a two weeks it seemed like she was still being accustomed to keeping up with the strategic and hardworking General. She sat there, silently, only speaking in a low, polite tone when she was addressed and mostly kept her eyes on her datapad.

But Phasma just could _not stop_ fucking staring, once again, grateful for her helmet.

Although, she had to admit, she didn't feel as bad knowing that Lord Ren was doing the exact same with General Hux.

They were both standing on either side of the conference table, Ren on Hux's right and Phasma on his left, beside Lieutenant Wilhelm. The word _bodyguard_ came to mind but it really wasn't the case; Phasma honestly preferred to stand. It allowed her to focus on everyone in the room, allowed her to be more prepared if things went awry.

And Lord Ren preferred to stand because... wait, what was he even doing there?

Whatever he pleased, as usual. Lord Ren always got what he wanted, like a spoilt little prince. He had no rules to bind him down. Not directly a part of the First Order, not affiliated with the military rankings, yet unofficially above them all. His Knights were not bound by laws or morals. Lord Ren more so. The Supreme Leader's precious thing, revered and cherished. Though, Phasma did have to admit, he was not deified for nothing; Kylo Ren was _dangerous_.

And everyone in the room found that out very quickly.

But if one were to recollected what happened that disastrous day, perhaps the rest of the conference members needed to be mentioned.

Lady Lourdes, créme de la créme of her people, hailing from a tropical system Phasma couldn't pronounce. She knew the system's radiant sun left the natives there with rich, warm skin and sweet, exotic fruits. Her accent was foreign and her Basic imperfect but she spoke with utmost confidence and rectitude. Her beliefs were strong and coincided with that of the First Order; peace and order through power and control.

And, of course, the crowning stroke of her characterisation was her disdain for the new Republic.

She sat with a few representatives of her planet's court, sharing their rich wine and laughing fondly with the General (who replied with tight smiles and nods). _Of course_ they would give the First Order transport through their system. _Of course_ they would offer up resources, information, support. _Of course_ they would stand with the First Order. How could they refuse? _"You're just too charming, General,"_ Lady Lourdes crooned coquettishly. Another sharp nod from Hux. _"Not as charming as you've been, my Lady."_ The Lady threw her head back and let out a loud, vehement laugh.

Everything was going smoothly. Right up until it wasn't.

Throughout the conference, the representatives eyes fell upon the reserved Lord on more than one occasion. Phasma could obviously not read their minds, but Ren could, and Phasma silently noted it had him fuming. Almost unnoticeable, but Phasma was becoming exceptionally versed in reading Ren's mood changes (not as well as Hux did but more definitely a close second). Whatever they were thinking, it was disturbing Ren. Then again, most days Ren had the mental reservation of a angsty teenager and usually interpreted everything as either a threat or an insult.

Maybe if she had voiced her concerned, perhaps quietly told Ren to _leave the room if you're uncomfortable,_ things wouldn't have ended the way they had.

The conference took a sour turn when the subject of the Supreme Leader came up. It was something no one liked discussing; everyone feared if they would speak of him in any form, good or bad, he'd know and he'd punish them for it. So they said nothing. Hux answered the questions with a stiff, controlled tone. _"We are grateful for Leader Snoke's guidance."_

So they asked Ren the questions. Just what was his role in the First Order? Were either he or Snoke a Sith Lord? Was Snoke even _real?_ Ren ignored them all.

_"Look how_ w _ell trained this one is. What a_ good _boy_."

Just one offhanded comment from the youngest of the representatives, forgotten with a wave of the hand, the conversation about to continue once more.

But instead, several other things happened at once.

Out of the corner of her eye, Phasma caught a sudden change in Ren's posture. Rigid. But shaking.

The table began to shake, too. And the chairs. In fact, the whole room vibrated, an frigid unease soaking the air. Even the wine started bubbling. That was when the other officers and representative noticed. But it was all too late.

"Ren, _don't!_ " Hux snarled at the very same time Lord Ren ignited his unconventional weapon. The room burned red. Disaster was inevitable now.

Within a second of Hux's warning, Ren had swung his saber and it almost looked effortless, graceful even, as it struck the unfortunate man who made the comment. The saber hit him in the junction where neck meets shoulder, burning through his expensive uniform and hacking into the rich, warm skin. He hardly had time to scream before Ren struck again, right in the throat, cutting off any sounds they were about to leave his mouth. The man was then ignored as he just fell, sunk to the floor in hushed agony, and the Lord's deadly weapon twisted in his grip, taking aim once more.

It was about then everyone began to panic.

There were several screams and cries and shouts and gasps and just about every other surprised noise a person could make. The officers new what was coming and they just _scrambled_. Every man for himself, it seemed. They rushed out to the door like moths to a flame, but instead of being drawn to something, they were fixated on getting the fuck away from it.

That's when the two officer's fell victim to Ren's wrath, now lying on the floor, along with the dying representative. Phasma didn't see where they were wounded, merely saw the red dance around the room in fiery swipes.

Hardly a minute had gone by and Ren was far from finished.

All this over a snide comment?

Both Hux and Phasma knew that it was more than just an _audible_ comment. They knew that man must have thought of something else that set the Lord off.

They also knew they needed to act. Fast. Or more people would end up like the poor man lying on the ground, fingers weakly clutching his burnt and bloody neck. General Hux ordered everyone to exit the room and to _alert the damn medic; we have officers down!_ It was safe to assume no one was listening – could they even hear him over the chaos that was quickly arising?

The table began to shake more violently, rising a few inches and falling with a _thud_ , as Ren stalked towards Lady Lourdes, who was cowering pitifully behind the General's shrieking for her life. And next to the Lady was Hux's Lieutenant.

Florentine.

She was trapped between Ren and the table and she couldn't get out and Phasma didn't know how she would do it but she was going to—

The tablet flipped. Phasma leapt.

She dragged Lieutenant Wilhelm to the floor at the same moment as the tablet smashed into the wall. There were very few things that frightened Phasma. Ren's temper was one of them. She couldn't deny the way her heart was thrumming, underneath her chrome armour. Amour which would have easily protected her from the brunt of the tablet. Amour that would not have done the same for the woman underneath her.

Florentine peered up at her, breathing ragged. Her eyes were alarmingly wide, entire iris showing, blinking too much. Phasma's cape draped around the two of them, promising false protection against the horror of a man that was still very much out of control, blazing around the room like a horrific cyclone.

Ren had taken to destroying the chairs, sending one into the large screen on the far wall. Both objects shattered upon impact. Sparks began to fly. The room was quickly coming a death trap.

"Phasma!" Hux shouted over Ren's animalistic snarls, one arm protectively around the Lady's wrist. "Escort Lady Lourdes out of here _now!_ "

An order. One she was about to follow had the Lady not wrenched herself free, screaming some insult at the General before tearing out the room with the remaining two representatives and a few more officers.

Phasma sat up, barely aware of Hux's voice, now directed at Ren – "Calm down, you animal! Have you any idea what you've—don't you dare swing that fucking thing at me, Ren! _Ren!_ Stop, just _fucking stop!_ "

He didn't.

Maybe Ren's actions were justified. Or maybe he was just insane.

Almost instinctively, Phasma snagged Florentine's wrist, eyes catching the dark red cuffs of her undershirt (the Lieutenant was wonderful at keeping attuned to the First Order colour scheme) and pulled her up as she stood abruptly. The small woman's eyes flicked up, panic splashing across her usual composed features. Shock? Phasma contemplated the idea. Not everyone was prepared for Lord Ren's arbitrary temper.

Without hesitation, Phasma swiftly led Lieutenant Wilhelm out of the room, ignoring Ren's shouts of rage and Hux's shouts of frustration.

She took them a few feet away from the door. There were officers rushing around, all too afraid to go into the conference room. Phasma and Florentine was lost amongst the pandemonium.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" Phasma asked, a little firmer than she had intended. Her hand was now on the other woman's shoulder, metallic fingers gripping into the thick, padded material.

Blue eyes still wide, Lieutenant Wilhelm let out an unsure breath, more of a gasp, really. The two were standing close, so close that the Lieutenant had to crane her neck just to meet Phasma's gaze. But she wasn't quite seeing, eyes not really focusing on the taller woman.

"Florentine?" Phasma coaxed again, surprising herself with the first name. She couldn't recall the last time she'd addressed an officer by their _first_ name (did she even know half the officer's first names?). But Florentine's was just too lovely to pass up; it fell past her lips with such grace. Florentine. _Now is not the time, Phasma._

Whatever, it caught the woman's attention. "I—I think... Wha... What was that?" she stammered, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing herself to take a breath. To regain control. "Is this what General Hux is referring to... In regards to Lord Ren? The tantrums?"

Phasma snorted, more or less forcing herself to get a fucking grip; she'd seen this all before. "I'm sure you understand why the General did not wish for you to meet him." She sighed, shaking her head. "The Knights of Ren are _unorthodox_ but Lord Ren... Ren is something else entirely."

Her hand was still on Florentine's shoulder. She didn't move it. A part of her wanted to brush the woman's disheveled hair from her face, to sweep away the curls that had loosened in their tumble. But she didn't. She kept her free hand in a tight fist by her side. Absently, she realised she had left her blaster in the room but couldn't care enough to think about retrieving it.

"Was this all about what the representative had said?"

"I doubt it."

She would have said more but at that moment, Hux emerged from the danger zone, brushing down his (singed?) coat in red flushed fury.

"General—"

Hux immediately held up his gloved hand, quickly silencing her. "No. Just—just, no. Don't talk to me," he ordered sharply, his hand now rubbing his left eye in weary exasperation. "Let him tire himself out."

"Are you sure—"

"No, I'm not! But..." Hux shook his head, eyes on his boots. "I have to go console Lady Lourdes."

He said no more, taking off down the hall, head held high. The man wouldn't fall apart in public.

"I should," the Lieutenant took another deep breathe and tucked a ragged curl – the same curl Phasma wanted to twist around her own fingers – behind her ear before continuing, "I should go help him, ah, console the others. They must be pretty distraught."

"But are _you_ alright?" Phasma wasn't asking this as a commanding officer. She didn't expect the young to stand straight and salute, assuring Phasma that _of course_ she was alright and that she'll get right back to work.

She was asking because she thoroughly cared about the answer. Foreign and unusual and _highly unprofessional;_ she cursed herself for even asking. _S_ omething at the back of Phasma's mind just warned her to walk away and continue the day as if this hadn't happened. _Don't think about it until you're writing your reports, then briefly gloss over the important details. Don't picture the way those blue eyes glassed over with pure fear, fear of pain, of death. Because you_ know _that look. You've seen it time and time and time and time gain. You've been the cause of it. You've watched many eyes, of different shape, colour and size, burn with terror and tears, going impossibly round and and so alive with fear before they... become nothing but lifeless and significant organs of an insignificant being. You've shut yourself off so completely, trained yourself to become so apathetic. You have dedicated yourself to the First Order. Don't let this unravel you. These blue ares are no different from all the others you've seen. Do not put your fucking personal feelings before your duty to the First Order._

_Empathy is a dangerous emotion..._

But, really, they was no one her to stop her from doing so.

Lieutenant Wilhelm blinked several times and once she finally reopened her eyes, she let a cool, structured (and probably highly practiced) expression spread across her sharp features. There was no more fear. Her eyes seemed faded, distant. Phasma was almost disappointed (but her mind snapped at her that she'd let her emotions take the forefront of her thinking for quite enough today).

"Of course," the short woman replied. "I'll get over it... Thank you, though. Really."

Phasma could not trust herself to speak at that moment. Even with the helmet's modulator.

They parted, walking in opposite directions, and Phasma could still hear the shouts of Ren all the way down the hallway.

* * *

Hux looked simply enervated when he arrived at her quarters that night. His face ashen, his ginger hair spilling cross his wrinkled forehead, brow low, eyes dark. He was peaky, he was pallid, he was downright ghastly looking. The undershirt he wore was untucked, collar askew (and where those his workout pants he was wearing?). Phasma detected the distinct scent of alcohol.

She hadn't even expected him to show.

"You look like shit," Phasma noted, almost casually, as she stepped aside to allow Hux to enter.

Perhaps on any other day, that sort of comment would have plucked an eye roll from Hux, or maybe even a sardonic smirk. Instead, he just sniffed, almost looking offended. "Is that really how you address your General?"

"It is when he looks like shit."

Hux barked out a harsh laugh, rubbing his face tiredly as he trudged into the room. "It's been a long day."

It was then Phasma noticed he wasn't wearing boots. Just black bed socks. She almost laughed, but she knew the General wasn't here to be mocked.

He collapsed on the couch, burying his face in his elbow. "Lady Lourdes is furious about this supposed attempt on her life," he muffled into the creases of his shirt. "I don't suspect we'll be hearing from her for some time."

Phasma joined him, sitting on her other end of the couch and putting his feet in her lap. "Is Lord Ren alright?" she asked carefully. A dangerous question, maybe, but she was quite sure Hux wasn't interested in answering anything to do with the legal and medical technicalities he had to deal with. She didn't ask about the representative either; she already knew his fate.

"The two officers he put in intensive care aren't," Hux sneered bitterly, rolling onto his back. "He's in my quarters now. Says he _sleeps better_ there. That dramatic fucker... I should throw him in the trash compactor where he belongs."

"Do you... did he tell you what it was about?"

"We had a few conversations, if you can call them that; he was so incoherent. I mean, the man becomes enraged when someone insults his grandfather but I must admit, from what I can tell, Ren may have been justified."

"I suppose it wasn't without reason. I mean, Ren's infamous enough for most to know he shouldn't be mocked."

Hux's face twisted up darkly. "Nobody should dare think such things about him."

Phasma raised a brow. "Unless it's you?"

"That's different." Hux stretched his long body out, inhaling deeply and lifting his head to meet Phasma's gaze. "What have you got that will get me drunk?"

She snorted. "You mean more drunk?" She went over to the small conservator that sat in the corner of her quarters. "I have some Corellian rum?

"That'll do."

An hour and too many glasses of rum later, Hux and Phasma was resting against each other lazily. Phasma had to admit, they were the most levelheaded drunks she knew. (Well, at least _she_ was; one too many drinks and Hux turned into one hell of a hot mess and it was hi _-larious._ )

"Oh, shit, I forgot to ask; how's Lieutenant Wilhelm?" Hux asked out of the blue.

Phasma stiffened but Hux didn't notice. Her mind had been wondering to the small woman all evening. More than anything, Phasma just wanted to see the Lieutenant again, just to see how she was doing, if she was alright, minus the fear and panic and chaos involved with their last conversation. "Did you not see her after... that?"

"I didn't get a chance to talk to her; I was back and forth between the medics, representatives and _Ren._ You talked to her, though."

_I saved her._ "She was shocked. Nothing can prepared officers for Kylo Ren." Phasma wanted to change the topic. "How is the Lieutenant? Is she a competent assistant?" Okay, so she didn't really change the topic at all but she just wanted to hear more about the other woman.

"Florentine's a treasure; works hard, follows orders but isn't a complete pushover."

Phasma blinked. Hux was never one to address someone without the correct title. Was this woman really having that much of an affect on them? "First name basis, already, hm?" she drawled.

"Of course not, my dear; she doesn't know mine." Hux grinned then, looking so exhausted that for once, his smile didn't seem as cold. It was almost a real smile. Florentine _really_ was having an affect on them. Indirectly... at least, at the moment.

"Does anyone?" Phasma threw back. She didn't voice how much she felt Florentine was affecting _her._ She didn't know the answer.

Hux fell asleep on her couch that night, exhausted and angry and drunk. Phasma draped a blanket over him and left him a glass of water on the coffee table. When she awoke the next morning, Hux was already gone, leaving behind the empty glass and a note.

_Water doesn't cure hangovers._

_But thank you._

_~ H_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come pester me on [Tumblr!](http://thesunandoceanblue.tumblr.com/) I'd love to chat.
> 
> For those interested, Florentine is sporting a [Gibson Girl](http://hair-and-makeup-artist.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/Gibson-girls-style.jpg) hairstyle. Hooray for Edwardian fashion!


	3. Chapter 3

There was something about Sundays Phasma just enjoyed. It was a day of rest, even for the Order. Many officers had alternating Sundays off, as many as they could snatch up. There was usually more entertainment in the rec rooms; occasionally a film would be played on one of the large screens usually used to broadcast live feeds to the soldiers. Work still was completed, of course, but on Sundays, it was easier to forget they were in a war.

Although, Phasma rarely took days off, she let her composure drop a tiny bit on Sundays.

And on this particular Sunday, she was glad she did so.

She had been back and forth on the bridge all morning, requesting and receiving documents and reports in order to begin her summary on the FN troopers, including medical reports, field reports, estimated finances to name a few. The end of the quarter was coming up and she wanted an early start, as always.

The bridge was noticeably less busy – though still busy compared to a standard work environment – and Phasma felt her shoulders relax slightly as she marched by herself to hand deliver some hard copy field reports Colonel Leaux requested. The man was quite infuriating, believing himself to be better to his fellow superior officers simply because he was one of the oldest. He gave Hux a dreadful time, heavily implying the General was far too young to be a leader (and Hux was almost half the age of the other superior officers but it hardly hindered his work ethic). Phasma received the short end of Leaux’s opinions as well; listening to his close-minded remarks about Phasma not being as strong of a leader as her _male counterparts_. Yes, a part of that older generation that would always be blinded by the absurdity of women in the military.

Hux despised the man. And she kind of did too.

Fortunately, he wasn't in his office when Phasma arrived and she happily handed the reports off to the Major who was tapping away on his datapad, looking bored out of his mind. Not everyone enjoyed Sundays.

But for Phasma, the day was going rather well; no deadlines to stress over, no obnoxious Colonels to deal with. Yeah, it was going to be a good Sunday.

Until someone fucking ran into her with their hot cup of caf.

Phasma jerked back, and although she couldn’t feel the heat, she couldn’t definitely feel the liquid seeping through the spaces in her armour, soaking into her underclothes. Terrific.

"Oh, _fuck!_ "

The woman who ran into her cursed loudly, hands flying to Phasma’s chest, hovering awkwardly. Phasma couldn't help but notice how unusual the curse sounded on her tongue. Her voice was too... sweet? Something felt off. "I am _so sorry_. I—shit!"

Phasma held up her hand firmly. "It's fine. It's—" She cut off suddenly, doing a double take on just who was standing in front of her.

_Lieutenant Wilhelm._

She was unrecognisable.

Her dark auburn hair, usually decorated on the top of her hair, fell around her head shoulders in thick, voluminous curls (and there was a slight frizz to it). Instead of dark lips that always matched the undershirts she wore, they were painted a pink-orange colour, like that of a brilliant Naboo sunset. Her eyes were the still same, however; big and blue and framed with thick lashes and smoky makeup.

As for what she was wearing, well, Phasma had only seen her in the dark Order dresses, so the pale colour scheme was odd. It was clear she had a _high taste_ in fashion and probably an extensive closet to match. Her high collared coat was made from a thick, creamy coloured material, with a peplum waist. Along with that she wore a long, billowy skirt with a pastel floral pattern on it, and a pair of insanely inappropriate heels that were laced up tightly and had a cuff at the ankle. She was even wearing a grey hat, which Phasma thought was utterly absurd because who needed to wear a _hat_ on a _ship_ if it wasn't part of their military uniform? And yet, it just worked.

The light colour scheme also brought out an almost olive undertone to her skin. Phasma had assumed Florentine was pale (even next to Hux) but now, it was clear there was a rich warmness to her complexion that the dark uniforms and harsh lighting washed out. The woman's skin was sun-kissed and wonderfully so.

And as soon as she heard Phasma talk, she also did a double take. Apparently her mind must have drawn blank on who she had run into as well.

"Oh! Oh, _Captain Phasma!_ " Florentine exclaimed, hovering hands flying to her mouth. "Hi—I... oh, Gods, I'm so sorry! I'm such a fucking klutz..."

Phasma blinked behind her helmet. Was this the same Lieutenant who sat quietly by Hux and did any task without complaining and was exceptional at finances? _Surely_ not.

Florentine whipped some tissues from one of her pockets – confirming it _was_ Lieutenant Wilhelm; so resourceful and tactile, always prepared. Her nails were painted a pale pink, long and perfectly manicured. She dabbed at Phasma’s chest plate, biting her plush bottom lip softly. It was a futile effort; the coffee had soaked through. Phasma could feel her underclothes sticking to her skin.

"It's alright, Lieutenant."

Florentine snorted, nose crinkling up as she made half-hearted attempts to clean Phasma’s amour. "Please, I'm off duty; it's Florentine. Or Tina, if you'd prefer."

"Why would you shorten such a beautiful name?"

She hadn't meant to say it aloud. In fact, she hadn't even noticed she’d spoken the words aloud until Florentine chuckled, high and coy. "It is beautiful, isn't it? My mother gave me the name because when I was born our house was surrounded by beautiful, blossoming flowers." She smiled fondly. "But when I was little, neither my friends nor I could pronounce it, so it was just Tina."

Phasma pursed her lips. Why was the Lieutenant telling her this? Such a personal thing to share with an acquaintance. Wasn't it? Phasma did have to admit she was a little out of practice with socialising (though she wasn't nearly as bad as a certain Lord and General she knew. Really, out of the three of them, she had the best chance of making new friends).

“Do you still go by Tina?”

“Depends on who I’m with. My mother used my full name.” She drew her hands back, crinkling the stained tissues in her small hands. “But obviously, I mostly go by my title or last name around here.”

“Ah.”

Phasma was a real conversationalist.

Florentine grinned at her, despite Phasma’s inelegance, eyes lighting up beautifully and for a moment, Phasma thought she might swoon like a damsel in distress. And that should have made her feel ashamed... but it didn’t. Bad emotions were just chased away in the small woman’s presence.

“What are you doing on the bridge?”  
  
The Lieutenant’s smile fell at the question. "General Hux received a message from some of the First Order officials who are requesting an early summary of the military progress, before the end of the quarter. It... caught him off guard, I suppose. He's been all over the place and he left his datapad in his office. I wanted to fetch it for him." Her frown deepened, brow pinching and worry flickering in her eyes. "I think he's about to have a nervous breakdown... does he have those?"  
  
"More frequently than he should, though he tells no one." Phasma shook her head, making a mental note to try visit Hux later on. "He puts too much pressure on himself."  
  
Florentine nodded. "Well, I don’t think I’m going to be having much of a day off.”

The two stood silently. The seconds ticked on but neither of them moved. _Keep the conversation going, Phasma._

"How are you finding working alongside General Hux?" A cliché topic change – and probably not appropriate in this case – but Phasma was willing to talk about the _weather_ so long as it allowed her to continue to listen to Lieutenant Wilhelm's soprano voice.

She received the desired response and more so; Florentine brightening up again. "Well, I'd firstly like to say what a fucking _control freak!_ " She let short laugh and Phasma felt her knees weaken every time the other woman cursed. "Don't get me wrong; it's an absolute honour and I have deep respect for the General but, man, he needs a _serious_ chill pill."

"An overachiever if there ever was one."

"And he acts like he has his shit together but he looks like he drinks a bottle of wine every night and gets no sleep."

"Well, you're right about the lack of sleep." And probably the wine, too.

Florentine nodded, eyes lowering. “I really should grab the General’s datapad and go check on him.” She offered Phasma a wry smile. “Don’t wanna find him breathing into a paper bag.”

“Tell him to take the rest of the day off.” He’d put up a fight, no doubt, but with enough prodding, he’d waver. Especially if he was told Phasma told him to do so.

Standing on her toes (and Phasma didn’t even know how she did that in heels) Lieutenant Wilhelm punched her shoulder lightly and Phasma stiffened at how _close_ the other woman was to her. She could smell her perfume. Vanilla and honey, reminded her of summer days on her home planet. “So, sorry again for spilling coffee on you.”

“As I said, don’t worry about it.”

“Enjoy the rest of you day,” Florentine said as she begin to walk to Hux’s office.

“You, ah, you too.”

Phasma couldn’t remember the time she was this flustered. She felt like a fucking fool; this lovesick behaviour was disgusting and unbecoming and childish. She’d seen a lot on her life; she slaughtered civilians mercilessly alongside some of the most deranged people she’d met. She served an order that was hell-bent on peace and control, regardless of the way they got there. She wiped dirt and blood and gore from her armour on almost a weekly basis. She had spent years training herself to be completely impassive and emotional detached.

And then, _oh_ , Florentine spun around and smiled once more and Phasma could have fallen to her knees right there. She didn’t even feel the coffee anymore.

* * *

Phasma couldn't deny she missed sunrises and sunsets. Back on her home planet, she would always wake early for a morning run and watching the sun rise as it chases her through the small wood behind her home. And in the evening, she would enjoy her meals outdoors whenever she could, just to admire the pink and orange tinted sky. Little things, that made her feel smaller and much more human than people painted her.

She walked down the hallway, back straight, weapon snug against her chest, head turned to the large window of the ship. It wasn’t as if the stars were boring; they were beautiful and ever changing and all that platitude. But nothing compared to watching the sun break over the trees or melt into the skyline.

"My, Captain, we meet again. Are you following me?”

Her head snapped up to the voice and for the second time in one day she was facing Lieutenant Florentine once more. The woman put all the stars and all the sunsets to shame and Phasma didn’t believe it was okay for people to look like that.

She was no longer wearing her coat, instead sporting a white button up blouse, sleeveless and tucked into her skirt. Her hat was gone and her hair pulled back into a bun, insanely sloppy by her usual standards.

Phasma had to take a deep breath before nodding her head. “Lieutenant.”

“Tina,” the other woman corrected, closing the distance between them. Phasma could smell the sweet and undeniable scent of wine on her, even through her helmet that somewhat hindered the sense. If she could smell wine...

"How's General Hux?"  
  
Florentine rolled her eyes. “Drunk.” She chuckled herself, resting a hand on her thin hip. “It took me over an hour get him to take the rest of the day off. And he would only do it if I promised to be his drinking and gossip partner.”

“Lucky. Usually that’s my job.”

“So he said. Anyway, he drunk at least three times as much as me and was about to have a shower when I excused myself.” She pursed her lips, glancing out the window. “I kinda feel bad for leaving but... It felt weird being in his quarters while he was in the room, let alone how it would have felt while he was showering.”

“Don’t worry; he’ll be fine,” Phasma assured and she was confident what she said was true. By this point, Lord Ren had probably replaced her in his quarters and Ren was probably finding other ways to relax the General. “So,” she said, desperate to continue the conversation. “Do you have every Sunday off?”

Florentine snorted. “Please, I’m working alongside General Hux . It’s every other Sunday. It’s that bastard just _generous?_ ”

It was hard for Phasma to truly process that _this_ was the real Lieutenant Wilhelm, and however she acted on duty was a composed face she put on. Actually, it was admirable that she was able to maintain her spitfire personality while she worked for Hux, the man who didn’t know how to draw the line between his on and off duty personas. Sure, he was different off duty, in subtle ways. He relaxed after a few glasses of wine, cracking dry jokes and laughing around his cigarette.

But Florentine... she may as well have been two different people.  
  
“How’s your day been?” Florentine suddenly asked, snapping Phasma from her thoughts.

“It was relaxed, I suppose. At least, after I cleaned the coffee off me.”

Although her face were already slightly flushed from the wine, Florentine’s cheeks stained darker and she ducked her head. “I really am sorry about that. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

 “It was just as much my fault as it was yours. You had a reason to be distracted but I should have been paying attention.”

“Sorry anyway.” Florentine hummed softly, casting a glance out the window. “Stars are so bright tonight.”

Phasma nodded. "This is a nice night for an evening."

Oh, stars, she wanted to fucking _die_. Right there. Forget an honourable death on the field; just eject her into space right now. She was glad the blush creeping up her neck was hidden.

But despite the goofy comment, Florentine threw her head back and let out a boisterous cackle, nose crinkling up and Phasma noticed she had an odd habit of holding her stomach when she laughed. "Ha! Oh, man, you sure said it. I can’t imagine a nicer night.”

Phasma didn’t reply. Mostly because she was trying to recover from her blunder but also because she was racking her brain for a way to continue the conversation.

She didn’t need to, however, because Florentine continued it for her. Was it possible she was just s eager as Phasma to keep talking?

"So we're obviously going to be spending a lot of time together. You work close to Hux. So do I."

Phasma shifted on her feet, unsure with where this conversation was going. "You're... point, Lieutenant?"

"Tina," the smaller woman stressed. "Or, at the very least, Florentine. Look, I want us to get along, okay? I don't wanna work with someone I don't know or don't like."

"You'll find that's quite unavoidable. Most people around here aren't looking to be your friend."

Florentine snorted. "Well, I don't want to be most people's friend; I want to be _your_ fucking friend."

“Oh.” Absently, Phasma tried to remember a time someone said that, or at least something similar, to her. There wasn’t a time. The only friend she’d made in the past few years was Hux – and sometimes Kylo but he didn’t always count.

Now someone was more or less _demanding_ to be her friend. She didn’t think she was a remotely likable enough person for that to ever happen.

“Anyway, what I want is for you to take off your helmet.”

“What?”

“I want to be able to put a name to a face. A _real face_ ; not just shiny armour and a cape—not that your cape isn’t rad because it is.”

Phasma almost took a step back. “I don’t really see the need.”

Florentine cocked her head to the side. “Why not? You know my face. Isn’t it fair?” She swept a loose curl from her eyes. “Just—come on. I would really like to see your face.”

Phasma looked around the empty hallway, just to clarify that it was in fact empty and no one would see her giving into this tiny woman’s plea.

Really, what harm could it do? Many officers had seen her face (and most never recognised her but that wasn’t the point) and she didn’t feel like she had a reason to hide it. She wasn’t like Lord Ren, who wore his helmet to cover up his humanity – and probably his tears, too. She merely wore hers because it was part of the ‘trooper outfit and it protected her face. If she had to go to battle without her helmet for some reason, she would. And then her enemies could see her pokerfaced expression, see the lack of remorse she had as she fired her blaster in the dead centre of their chests.

If she was honest with herself, she wanted to get to know Florentine. And probably more than that but she wasn’t going to admit that anytime soon without feeling slightly woozy. The first step to any solid relationship was reciprocation. So...  
  
Phasma attached her blaster safely to her belt. She reached up and deftly pulled her helmet up, shaking out her short hair before holding her helmet in from of her chest. Here she was, Captain Phasma, commander of the FN troops, presenting her face to another woman as if she was in a damn beauty pageant.

Florentine was silent. Maybe she wasn’t expecting Phasma to cave in so easily (which meant she didn’t know _just how much_ she was starting to wind the Captain around her small finger). She blinked a few times, head tipping back and forth like she was viewing a piece of exquisite art. A contemporary piece she didn’t quite understand.

"Oh... I see why you wear a helmet now..."  
  
Phasma frowned, heart falling from her chest. Florentine didn't like her face? Ridiculous. Why should she care? She'd always been mocked for the way she looked; _too_ tall, _too_ broad, _too_ big a nose. She had thick skin and thicker armour, impenetrable by this point in her life. Or so she thought. Was she really going to be brought down by the offhand comment of a fucking Lieutenant?

"If I got to see your face all day," the other woman continued, “I'd get nothing done."

“Huh?” Phasma said lamely.

"I mean, _stars,_ you're gorgeous! And, like, no offence—it's not like I wasn't expecting that or anything, it's just... I mean, shit, you’re just, you’re pretty okay?”

If Phasma didn't know any better, she'd have assumed Lieutenant Wilhelm was flirting with her. But Phasma knew absolutely nothing about romance (other than from cheesy and unbelievable novels) so she didn't have the slightest clue about what flirting was like.

“Thank you?”

Florentine chuckled. “You’re welcome.” She stood on her toes, stretching closer to the taller woman. "I really _do_ want us to be friends though."

Phasma would have taken a step back but decidedly didn’t want to come off as offensive. “That... would be nice.”

And wouldn’t it? A real friend would be very nice. Not that Hux and Ren weren’t real friends; they just weren’t normal enough to do friendly stuff with. And, really, neither was she or Florentine or anyone she knew but it would be nice to try. She was a sucker for gossip and suspected Florentine was, too. She wanted someone she could have lunch with, take a weekend off with and travel to a system with to do whatever they pleased together. Someone to stay up like talking to, like little school girls at a sleepover. (All the stuff she never really got to do as a child.)

Someone to kiss would be nice, too, but at this point she wasn’t really picky.  
  
Florentine – Tina – smiled, eyes shining coquettishly. "I'll see you later, Phasma.”

She winked at Phasma before stepping around her and sauntering off in her insane heels, hardly swaying despite the amount of wine she must have drunk.

For a moment, Phasma forgot how to breathe and couldn’t think straight even after she shoved her helmet back on.

She decidedly like Sundays a lot more now; especially every other one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, my fave pastime is looking up fancy and dramatic outfits so have [these](https://mir-s3-cdn-cf.behance.net/project_modules/disp/b2883b48116229.560823edd7f49.jpg) [two](https://mir-s3-cdn-cf.behance.net/project_modules/max_1200/fcc2a626927457.5635e28d7a37c.jpg), which inspired Tina’s outfit for this one.


End file.
